


5 Times Wynonna Said "I Love You" (+1 Time Dolls Said it Back)

by convolutedConcussion



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Author Doesn't Understand Tags, F/M, Fluff, Very Brief Almost Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 23:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7075645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convolutedConcussion/pseuds/convolutedConcussion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the tin, five times Wynonna Earp tells Xavier Dolls she loves him, plus one time he says it back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Times Wynonna Said "I Love You" (+1 Time Dolls Said it Back)

**Author's Note:**

> This was very self-indulgent, okay? This all started with a friend and me going back and forth with "What ifs" re: WyDolls being fucking disgusting. It's 4AM, I never meant to ship it this hard, send help.

1.

The first time it happens, they’ve been doing this for about a month.  It was only supposed to be sex—and it’s great sex, if she’s being honest.  They don’t really talk about it, but their not talking about it made it _seem_ like it was supposed to be just great, earth-shattering, mind-melting sex.  Wynonna’s fine with that—she is—if this were all she could ever get out of Dolls, if all this were all she could expect, she’d be perfectly content with it.  Frankly, it’s _that good_.  They can’t afford any attachments, she gets that.

But there are _moments_ when it feels like it could be something else.

And the first time it happens, his face is buried between her legs, tongue dragging shaky moans out of her lips.  When he presses fingers into her, she goes a little stupid, and then she says it:

“ _Fuck_ , I think I love you.”

He stops.

Her words catch up with her.

_Fuck_.

“I—I mean,” she stammers, backpeddling quickly, “I think I love your _tongue_ and your _fingers,_ God, your _cock_ —n-not—”

But he smiles, a little sharp around the edges, and curls his fingers inside her _just right_ and she bites back a shriek.  He sucks a kiss against the inside of her thigh and she absolutely quakes with it, begs for more, needs him to just—

2.

They don’t talk about it.  That’s their MO.  That’s fine.

Dolls sometimes can be prevailed upon to make breakfast.  It’s soul-crushingly good.  She hates him for it, a little.  She’s constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.  There’s gotta be something he’s bad at.  (There are things he’s bad at, but they’re minor sins all things considered.)

It’s disgustingly early, but her sister isn’t up yet so she lets herself lean into his back while he flips chocolate chip pancakes, arms loose around his middle.  He hums when he cooks—like a _dork_ —and she can feel the gentle rumble of the melody she can’t quite place against his shoulder.  The coffee hasn’t finished brewing yet, and she’s still pleasantly sleepy, rubbing her cheek against his bare skin.  One day, even if today is not that day, she’ll get him to sleep in.

“Bacon?” he asks simply, turning his head just a little.

“I love you, you know me so well,” she yawns.

After a moment of silence, he bats her arms off of him and mumbles, “You’re an easy read.”

3.

She leans far back in her chair, kicking her feet up on the table and letting her head loll.  In her entire academic _career_ —which, admittedly, was just through high school and a couple courses at a community college—she doesn’t think she’s read as much as she has in the past four hours.  Scrubbing her face, she slumps further, closes her eyes, and grumbles about how shooting people should not involve this much fucking _reading_ good god.

Footsteps, then fingertips massaging gently into her scalp.

She lets out a noise, too breathless to be a real moan, but low and content as he works at the tense points.  As his hands work lower, she lifts her head, lets herself be coaxed by the massage to sit up to give him better access to her neck, the base of her skull.  She tips her head back when his thumbs dig into her the tense muscles in her neck and catches his eye.  He dips down, catches her lips against his in a quick, almost chaste kiss.

When she says, “I could love you,” this time it’s not an accident or a slip.  She means it, as much as she can.  It’s scary in that it doesn’t frighten her at all to say it, to admit this.  She _could_.  Hell, she probably does.

That should be terrifying.

He kisses her again, sweeter and lingering this time.

4.

This is her fault, this is _all her fault_.

Waverly won’t say it, Nicole is looking at her like her heart is breaking for her—she can’t take it.

She needs to _do_ something, be somewhere else, she can’t just be waiting around to find out if Dolls is—that Dolls has—

Nicole catches her with steady hands on her shoulders, soulful puppy dog eyes locked in on hers.  “You’re wearing a hole in the floor,” she says gently.  Wynonna opens her mouth to say something but all that comes out is this horrible choking noise—she can’t be making that sound, can she?  But then arms wrap around her and all she can hear is this terrible, loud sobbing and the other woman whispering, “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay…”

She feels her sister hold on to her, fierce and hard, head tucked into her shoulder.

It’s impossible to say how long they stand like that, but neither Wave nor Nicole pull away until someone clears their throat nearby.  It’s some doctor she vaguely recognizes, a tall woman built like a brick house, and she comes closer.

“He’s stable,” she says with a placating smile.  “He’s not awake, but if you wanted to see him—”

“Yes, yeah,” Wynonna coughs, swiping at her tear-streaked face.  Sniffling, she shuffles after the doctor into a room where she almost loses it again because he’s _alive_ but he’s hooked up to all these machines and his skin looks sick—she tries to convince herself it’s the bad light.  Vaguely, she hears the doctor say something about five minutes but she’s already at the bedside.

She can’t help touching him, his bruised face, his wrapped hands, there are bandages and tubes everywhere.

“You… _moron_ ,” she whispers, failing to hold back another stream of tears.  “God, I—I can’t believe you.  I can’t _believe_ you would pull such a stupid—I _love_ you, you can’t _do_ that, just off and almost die, you _ass_ hole.”

5.

It’s been maybe two solid weeks since she’s slept anywhere but curled up awkwardly in hospital chairs.  The staff doesn’t make her leave, doesn’t even try to.  But now Dolls is recovered enough to be discharged.  Wynonna and Waverly take turns (gently) arguing with him until he agrees to stay at the homestead at _least_ until he’s healed.  So now, she’s back in her own bed with her useless lump of a… partner sleeping off the trip from the hospital next to her.  Aimless and jittery, she traces her finger around the edge of the bandages wrapping his chest.

“Sleep, Wynonna,” he orders, voice thick with exhaustion.

“I’m still mad at you,” she murmurs.

“I know,” he says, covering her hand with his.

“I hate you,” she grumbles.  The sting of the accident hasn’t quite worn off yet, in any case.  “I hate that I love you.  This sucks.”

“Know that, too,” he chuckles.

She can feel him drifting and she tries to snuggle closer.  Finally, her eyes close.  She may sleep, she may just float right on that edge of unconsciousness, but it’s dinnertime when Waverly comes to wake them.

+1.

“Hey, Bobo,” she calls, staring down the barrel of Peacemaker.  “Make your peace.”

She watches him get dragged back into Hell and maybe she expected it to feel… different, somehow.  The gun is loose in her grip at her side—it’s _over_.  The word keeps echoing until it loses all meaning in her head, _over over over over over over_.  She can’t stop staring at the spot where Bobo Del Rey used to be.  The curse is broken ( _broken, broken, broken, the curse is broken, broken)_ but she doesn’t feel anything.  Distantly, she can hear her sister saying something, can hear Nicole and Dolls, but none of it is making any sense.

She holsters Peacemaker.

Months, years, decades they’ve been dealing with this and it’s _over_.

One word makes it through the din:  “Wynonna.”

As if looking for answers, she turns to Dolls, but his face is closed, unreadable. Waverly rushes her, almost knocks her over with the force of her hug, and there may be tears in her eyes but Wynonna’s still a little numb.

When they break apart, Wynonna hears herself say, “We should go to Japan.  You’d like it—or maybe Paris.  I never got to really explore Athens.”

Her sister chokes on a laugh or a sob or maybe a strange combination of the two.

She points at Nicole, laughing a little hysterically, “You’re invited.  Get your passport.  We’re leaving as soon as I have a drink or… a bar…”  Crooking a finger at Dolls, she mumbles, “You too.  We’ll teach you how to have _fun._ ”

“God, I love you,” he says simply, smile very soft and private.

She thinks Waverly gasps, it may be the first time either of them has publicly displayed any sort of affection, but Wynonna can only respond, “I know,” before launching herself into him.

**Author's Note:**

> Take a peak at my [Tumblr](http://johnisntevendead.tumblr.com), feel free to talk to me! To send prompts but also to listen to me scream about how much Dolls and Wynonna love each other.


End file.
